


Aether

by aeber



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Character study(??), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeber/pseuds/aeber
Summary: The end of the world is near, and Lucina finally reaches the Dragon’s Table, only to find that Grima isn’t there.
Relationships: Chrom & Lucina (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Peculiarity: FE Small Writer Zine





	Aether

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the Peculiarity zine some time ago, and now I’ve been given permission to post it! I love Lucina so much pls take it ^^

There was blood on her lip.

Or rather, there was blood everywhere. On her cheek, her neck, her nose that had been broken just hours ago from a rogue Risen. She had stuck her sword through it, but that didn’t stop it from mauling Owain in the chest. The result: she pressed her palm against his torn torso, feeling how he still breathed, although more raggedly with each passing second.

They say it takes the better half of an hour for one to die without their guts. They’d lied. He was begging for her to end his life. He should have died hours ago. What was she doing, hesitating?

She drove Falchion through him in the end. Owain rasped his final breath, his death throes a peal of shrill laughter, and laid still for the crows.

She knelt to close his eyes. A foul taste still lingering in her mouth, she stood up, gazed at the tower at the far end of the horizon, and tasted salt on her tongue. There would be no time for a grave. All they had fought for, all the lives that had been lost, had carried her to execute this final moment.

Was it a curse, she thought, as she meandered numbly through the narrow path out to sea. A few Risen appeared in her way and her limbs whirred by instinct, skimming off skin like butter, scraping dead flesh off white bones. She flicked her wrist, parting a skull from its undead body. The silver of her blade sheared the breeze into two.

The shallow cut on her cheek tingled as the skin reknit. She could feel her blood thrum, sucking the life out of the corpses on the ground to heal her wounds. Sheathing her sword, she pivoted on a heel, striding towards the looming gates to the tower ahead.

She stopped at the entrance.

The gates were unlocked. She found it strange that the Table was unguarded but took no heed. Step by step she climbed the spiral of stairs, the soles of her boots clicking distinctly on the damp stone.

The doors to the main hall were etched with two dragons. It was once a sacrificial altar in Naga’s name after all, and the carvings there depicted the first exalt striking down the fell dragon in all his heroic glory. How ironic that it was used as Grima’s personal quarters now.

She kicked the heavy wooden doors open. The hinges creaked ominously.

“Grima.” She spat, steel hissing from its sheath. Then her eyes widened.

“Grima?” Chrom echoed, his voice hoarse. “No… it isn’t you.”

His skin had taken on a dull, bluish hue, a black crown wreathing his head above his scarlet, undead eyes. Sluggishly, he raised the sword of his own, the heavy weight of iron straining against his strength.

“My lord’s orders.” He muttered, lacking in inflection. “Lord… Lord Grima…”

“Father?”

He tilted his head in confusion. “I am no one’s father.” His armor clanged as he fell into stance. “By my lord’s orders, all intruders… must perish.”

He swung at her. She dodged easily, her grip on Falchion faltering. Of course. Grima, the bastard, why wait for her here, when he had a perfectly good corpse at his disposal?

Black iron bit into the floor. He grunted lowly, heaving the claymore aside and lunged at her again. Sparks flew as she deflected the blow, the screech of metal whinging, blades kissing and parting without hesitation. Her feet skidded a few inches, her breath ghostly white in the night chill. She swallowed thickly as her father lifted his sword again.

He was slower, yet stronger now. She mirrored his steps, just as she had done decades ago in her childhood. Had she ever won against her father? She could not remember. The claymore arced through the air and smashed into the wall beside her. If she couldn’t take the upper hand…

There was no time to think. She ducked, rolled, and nicked him in the cheek. He didn’t bleed, she noticed, an unpleasant knot in her throat forming as she spun and teethed Falchion against his armor. The gilding was pure white in mockery. Her blows left only scratches on him, though the seemingly careless heaves of his sword knocked the wind out of her lungs.

He lurched forward. She pirouetted, aiming true, and struck him square in the neck. He didn’t even do so much as flinch. Her strength was monstrous, but a dead man felt no pain. Absently he touched the gash with the pad of his thumb, and let out a deep, guttural growl.

This time he lashed out with his fists, grabbing at her with his studded gauntlets. She swiftly directed it aside, slamming his arm with the flat of her blade. In the opening she jabbed at his throat but he struck Falchion aside with his blade, nearly sweeping her off her feet. Vibrations rang down Falchion’s hilt from the sheer force, tingling down her wrists. She staggered. Her back thudded against the wall.

If she couldn’t take the upper hand…!

She clutched Falchion tightly, forcing her eyes open as Chrom's sword crashed down on her shoulder. A sickening crack sounded and pain exploded through her arm, but she clenched her teeth all the same and plunged her blade deep through his chest, skewering him through the heart. Chrom blinked.

They stayed still for a fleeting fraction of a second, two blades driving deeper through each other. A familiar coppery flavor seeped throughout her tongue and she urged Falchion in despite the agony, the life draining from her limbs.

Then Chrom took in his first gasp of air since meeting her, mumbling three syllables that she could not pick up through the roar of her heartbeat in her ears, and drove Falchion all the way through his chest.

A thin wisp of smoke snaked from his fingers gripping at the holy blade, as if the metal was burning him alive. Inch by inch it ate through the gaping hole between his ribs, until his muscles spasmed and with a shuddering groan fell lifelessly onto the floor.

“Father.” Lucina whispered. She approached to close his eyes, but to her horror her arm had begun to heal at an inhuman rate. With grim fascination she watched her crushed bones weave itself back to its original state, flesh sealing itself to the point where it was indistinguishable where the sword had torn through in the first place.

Perhaps it was destiny. Did Naga know when She gave Her blood to the first exalt, that it would end in such cruel tragedy?

Dawn dribbled through the threads of mist above the sea. The night parted like broken bread, sunlight oozing from the heavens.

Dyed orange from the morning hues, she unlodged Falchion from her father’s corpse, skin prickling from the warmth that slowly rose from the horizon. Naga’s dilapidated statue stared down upon her, in comfort or judgement, she would never know.

The footprints that she left behind were stained dark with mud. She didn’t bother to wipe down her sword.

Silently, she knelt before the altar, laying down the sullied blade as an offering to the gods.

No tears fell as she prayed, and prayed, and prayed.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on my [twitter!](https://twitter.com/shtrigaei) my tumblr (mostly unused im so sorry tumblr) is [main](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/chocolatecocoamilk) / [side ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aebers)  
> 


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